t artistically, came out fairly well. It is only fair
to admit, however, not one individual member of the troupe made what is
designated as a personal success. There was now money in the treasury,
and plenty of confidence to go with it. The consensus of opinion,
however, appeared to be that "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was a little too risky
to repeat. It was admitted that _Eva_ was not what might be described as
a howling success. Moreover, the boxes that did duty for ice floes were
fortunately, or unfortunately, left behind on the golden sands of Long
Island. In addition to that, the artist who performed the dog act and
who as a barker in Coney Island might be considered clever in a way was
now as hoarse as a second-hand trombone from a third-rate pawnshop let
out for hire to a broken-down German band. An hundred and one
difficulties were interposed against the further presentation of the
well-worn old drama. It was finally decided that _Uncle Tom_ should be
relieved from duty, for the present at least, and the play and the
public given a rest.

CHAPTER V

"I would rather live in Bohemia than in any other land."
--JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY

The main point to be decided was the selection of the town in which the
next exhibition should be made. Various places were named, their
resources summed up, and the peculiarities of the inhabitants canvassed.
None of them seemed to the assembled wisdom of the company to fill the
bill. Handy apparently appeared to take slight interest in the
deliberations, but his active brain, notwithstanding, was at work. He
was considering the situation, and quietly letting his companions
ventilate their views before offering his. At length the exchange of
opinions reached the stage when the sage deemed it was proper to speak.

"Eureka!" he exclaimed, "I have it."

"Suffer us not to remain in ignorance," urged the comedian. "Do not
dissemble--enlighten us."

"Newport!"

"Newport!" they all repeated in surprise.

"Newport!" Handy replied calmly, and the company looked at each other
and then turned their gaze on Handy.

"He's off his base," said the dwarf. "Why, we wouldn't take in money
enough to pay for the lights. Newport! Great Caesar's ghost!"

"We'll never get out of the place alive," volunteered the dog-man.

Handy merely smiled as he listened to his companions' objections, but he
was firm in his resolve to have his way.

"Newport, my friends," began Handy, complacently, "